


if you want

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: They are both covered in a thin sheen of sweat but Arthur can see from his place in the hammock that Eames is flushed across his cheeks, from the unbearable heat or the sunburn he’d acquired just a few days prior Arthur isn’t sure.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 26





	if you want

They are both covered in a thin sheen of sweat but Arthur can see from his place in the hammock that Eames is flushed across his cheeks, from the unbearable heat or the sunburn he’d acquired just a few days prior Arthur isn’t sure. The air conditioner is no longer functional and the villa’s owner has yet to respond to the increasingly agitated messages Arthur has left him. They can hear the waves crashing along the shore but the water is lukewarm and neither of them has the energy to make it all the way down to the beachfront anyway. Somehow, Arthur wills himself up.

‘Where are you going?’ Eames mutters curling his arm over his face as if that’ll protect him from the suffocating humidity. But Arthur doesn’t even have the wherewithal to respond.

The cold water of the shower is a short but much-needed respite. He stumbles back out not daring to blot the water from the surface of his skin and rolls on his smallest pair of swimming trunks. 

Eames is still sprawled across the couch but he’s discarded his shirt onto the floor and acquired a book of which he is holding out with one hand. He lowers it hesitantly to turn the page. ‘Where in the bloody hell is Dom?’

Dom had gone to the corner shop for ice but he’d done so what must have almost been an hour ago. ‘Maybe I should call-’ Arthur says filling a glass.

'Don’t bother.’ Eames humphs. ‘Maybe he’s finally driven off one of those cliffs.’

‘You can only dream.’ He says as he passes but Eames grabs him before he can return to his own spot in the hammock.

His book settles nicely against his chest.

’Interesting swimming costume you’ve put on.’

Arthur gives him a put upon look. ‘I imagine you think the bananas are some sort of shitty innuendo.’

Eames lets go of his shorts and lifts his book with a coy smile. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’ And Arthur can’t help himself pulling the book free from Eames’ hand.

He tosses it onto the coffee table. ‘Let’s go to the Savoy… where there’s air conditioning.’

Eames pushes himself up onto his elbows and licks his lips at the very mention of cool air. Arthur’s eyes are drawn to the shadow of his ribs shifting under his skin and the soft fold of his stomach against the top of his shorts. He resists the urge to push him back down.

‘Will you go for a swim with me then?’

‘Maybe,-‘ Arthur had been resistant to Eames’ invitations since they arrived but now given they’re approaching the end of the job he’s feeling a bit more tolerant. ‘-if you behave.’ 

Eames takes a quick shower and Arthur doesn’t even bother changing out of his little banana shorts. They get a table indoors and an overpriced bottle of Cabernet that Eames drinks greedily by the mouthful. Arthur orders a leg of lamb and Eames a vegetarian curry. In short order, they’ve recovered from the heat and they’re well enough to bicker over Arthur picking at Eames’ plate, and the state of the villa kitchen, and whether or not New York City is the best city on Earth. 

‘It’s not.’ Eames says for the umpteenth time, shooting the last of the wine from his glass.

Arthur is reclined in his chair, his hand drifting absently across his overfull stomach.

‘Serves you right.’

Arthur cuts him an annoyed look and Eames just smiles. The dining room has filled up considerably but the sun is setting and they’re losing light quickly. In the golden hour, Eames’ heavy-lidded eyes are cool but Arthur looks away still.

‘Let’s get a room.’ Eames decides and Arthur wonders how exactly he hadn’t thought of it first. He resolves that the heat exhaustion had taken a shot at his cognition. 

Arthur rings Dom. ‘ We’re getting rooms at the Savoy.’ He says and Dom scoffs like the penny pincher he is. ‘ The heat is unbearable.’

‘Do you know how much a room at the Savoy is? Anyway, I bought fans!’

But as soon as Eames mentioned it there was no turning back and when twenty minutes later Eames slips back into his seat with a keen smile he slips a keycard across the table. 

‘Two rooms.’ He says. ‘Two nights.’

‘How much? I’ll-’

‘Oh, don’t bother. I figure you’ve saved my ass one too many times anyway. I owe you.’

Arthur makes sure to pay the bill on his way to the bathroom and they finally wander out to the pool where Eames discards his shirt and shoes and slips into the water like it’s nothing. Arthur retires to a lounger and watches him swim lazy laps. Eventually, he tires and floats aimlessly. His arms out at his sides, his toes pointing skyward. When the sun has completely gone he sidles up to the side of the pool and rests his arms along its edge.

‘You’re not coming in are you.’

Arthur watches him swim back across the pool before sitting up to remove his shirt. The water is a relief and they swim circles around one another laughing about Cobb probably pacing circles around the villa sweating through his wife-beater and eating all of Eames’ crisps. And it feels good to be like this with Eames, at ease, no one they know to spectate. Arthur presses his back up under the lip of the pool and Eames comes in just close enough that Arthur has to keep very still. ‘ Where are you off to come Friday?’

‘Ko Samui with Cobb.’

‘Of course.’ Eames says drifting away. ‘Always with Cobb.’

‘He’s reliable.’

Eames gives a frivolous smile and Arthur knows he’s drunk then, they both are. ‘Cobb’s only talent is knowing how to put together a good team. It’s why he’s caught you under his thumb.’

Arthur mulls it over for a moment but he’s not wrong.

‘You’re too loyal.’ Eames continues wading back in.

‘Is there such a thing? Too loyal?’

Eames smiles. ‘Course there is.’

’And you’re what then? Unloyal?’

‘I’m loyal-’ Eames says glancing thoughtfully at the water. ‘-or I could be.’

Arthur feels jealous of the water lapping at his chin. He feels the urge to kiss him, from his chin to his cheeks, his ears, his nose.

‘I’m losing you.’ 

And Arthur refocuses on him. It’s not that late but they’ve both been fading. Eames scrubs a hand across his face. 

‘Should we turn in for the night?’

Arthur’s quick to contest. ‘Just one more thing.’

Eames follows him across the boardwalk, his body heat bouncing off of Arthur’s back. When they reach the sand it’s darker than dark but the stream of moonlight along the waves is blinding. Eames startles when the water runs under his feet and he reaches out to nudge Arthur. ‘I can hardly see you.’ He says and Arthur turns towards him but the moon only glances along the smooth line of his nose and the very corner of his mouth. 

He flips his palm to take hold of Eames’ wrist. ‘It’s too dark.’ He says pushing him away from the sound of the waves but Eames stands his ground. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Just a minute.’

And they stand there, Arthur’s hand still loose on Eames’ wrist and their breathing drowned out by the water crashing at their feet. ‘Alright?’ Eames says to Arthur’s nose and still Arthur takes pause before leaning in and kissing him in the dark. 

His hands find Arthur’s face easily; the slope of his cheeks and the shell of his ear. Eventually, they find their way back to the hotel and up to one of their rooms. Eames is coy when he’s drunk, kissing Arthur by the door for what feels like ten lifetimes but Arthur has always been impatient and does eventually wrestle him into bed. 

‘The light.’ Eames sighs reaching toward the bedside but Arthur’s knees have him pinned.

Arthur reaches out himself and flicks it on. He simultaneously regrets and delights in it because Eames is burgeoning pink, from the dip in his throat to the swell of his cheeks. 

‘Too much wine, maybe.’ Arthur mumbles reaching out to pull aside his collar but Eames is too drunk to be bothered, smiling impishly even with his eyes half shut.

‘Or not nearly enough.’ He says shifting under him to get comfortable and balling a hand in Arthur’s shirt to pull him closer still.

He braces himself against Eames’ ribcage and he can feel his heart is thrumming against his ribs like a snare, double time. He kisses the mole just shy of Eames’ Adam’s apple and opens his mouth to feel his pulse again on his tongue this time.

‘Oh, cripes.’ Eames moans slinging his arm around Arthur’s neck and bucking his hips aimlessly. Arthur tucks his hand against Eames’ face, the tip of his index finger against his ear lobe and his thumb at the corner of his mouth. He slumps into Eames’ chest and he can feel the suspension of his breath between their bellies. ‘ Don’t stop.'

‘You’re very drunk.’ He mutters resting his forehead against Eames’ cheek.

And Eames is practically going cross-eyed trying to keep his eyes open: 'Who's very drunk??’ He retorts but Arthur slides away from him.

In the night, Eames rolls toward the sound of the ocean, pulling Arthur flush along his back with a disgruntled sigh. He stirs in the morning when the lizards cease squeaking and the birds begin to chirp. Arthur had come to with the sun, his nose bent against Eames’ shoulder. The waves are accompanied by the sound of families with young children ambling down the beach for a spot in the shade. He kicks Arthur lightly in the shin and squints over his shoulder at him. 

‘Time is it?’ He mumbles shifting deeper into the covers.

‘Nine.’ Arthur says and Eames falls promptly back to sleep. When his phone rings he hesitates to pull himself away but he does. 

‘The air conditioning is still out.’ Cobb says and Arthur sits back against the headboard. 

‘Just one more night.’

Cobb gives a long heaving sigh on the other end and Eames slumps onto his back to watch curiously. ‘Meet at the villa tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, Benson’s appointment at Barclay’s is at 2 so noon will be fine.’

‘Alright…’

Eames rolls out of bed and shuts the bathroom door quietly behind himself when Arthur and Cobb start discussing the job. Arthur imagines Eames kicking off his pants, the harsh tan lines where his swim trunks meet his thigh. The shower runs quietly and Arthur stops himself ending the call to duck in behind him.

‘Eames ready you think?’ Cobb says and like he’s heard a ringing in his ears Eames comes out drying his hair with a towel.

He wanders about the room and Arthur watches despite himself. ‘Yeah, think so.’ 

Eames takes his pack of cigarettes from his trousers and taps one out and Arthur sits up abruptly to reach for him. He wants to taste him fresh from the shower before he sullies it with the sharp taste of tobacco. Eames makes a surprised noise but yields to Arthur pulling him back down. ‘Just take the day, Cobb. Relax before tomorrow.’

Arthur takes the pack and tosses them onto the bedside table. Cobb makes a noncommittal noise but Arthur can only focus on Eames’ fingers along the inside of his thigh.

‘Why don’t you give him your room?’ He whispers and regardless of the fact that he’s just spent the night in Eames’ bed his heart thumps in his chest at the presumption of spending another.

He nods. ‘We got you a room for tonight.’

Cobb gives another sigh, this time relieved. ‘Thank god!’

Arthur rolls his eyes and covers the mouthpiece. ‘Cheap-fuck.’ He mouths and Eames turns his smile into Arthur’s knee. His stubble scrapes along his skin and Arthur takes hold of the back of Eames’ neck to keep himself saying something aloud.

‘I need to meet Antoine downtown at 5 so I’ll head over after. You two have plans for dinner?’

Eames is looking up at him and miming hanging up the phone. It goes without saying that he is hesitant to relinquish this but there are things that need to be clarified for the sake of the job.

‘Hotel restaurant for 7?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Okay. See you then.’

When Arthur hangs up Eames gives him a long look. ‘Have we made a terrible mistake?’ He says, squeezing Arthur’s leg.

Arthur settles back into the headboard. ‘Probably.’ Eames leans in to mouth at the ripple in Arthur’s thigh. It tingles to his toes but he wants his mouth elsewhere. ‘You’re just lucky we got one night.’

And Eames glances at him, his lips still grazing his scar. There’s something about being agonizingly sober and staring at Eames like this. It makes Arthur wonder why he hadn’t suggested this earlier. ‘One night you wasted putting me to bed, you mean.’

‘I thought I was being good.’

Eames gives it a moment of thought, his hand ghosting across Arthur’s ankle. ‘You were.’

‘You’ve got till’ seven anyway-‘ Arthur mumbles pulling him up to taste. ‘-and after too… you know, if you want.’

‘If I want-‘ Eames says into Arthur’s mouth. ‘Have I been unclear? Or are you being modest?’

Arthur doesn’t know how to respond. He knows that Eames smells like French-milled pine soap and tastes like sage. He knows that he wants more of him against him, or overtop of him or under him but he doesn’t know whether or not it's a reasonable thing to want. 

Eames pulls away abruptly and he rubs his thumb across Arthur’s cheek as if there’s something there to be wiped away. ‘What?’ Arthur mumbles finding the band of Eames’ pants blindly.

Eames pushes Arthur’s leg up with his knee. ‘Forget about Ko Samui.’

Arthur digs the heel of his foot into the back of Eames’ thigh for better leverage. ‘Huh?’

‘I have a house in Lamu. Endless air-conditioning,-‘ Eames kisses Arthur’s cheek. ‘-endless fucking, a margarita or two maybe.’

Eames is too forthright, too self-indulgent and Arthur rarely allows himself to want but he feels it regardless. As ridiculous as it sounds, it remains an acute hollowness in the pit of his stomach. ‘You don’t even know if it’s any good yet.’ He mutters lifting his chin.

But Eames just looks at him. ‘Don’t I?’

* * *

Most mornings the dhows coast along the shore like uninhibited paper boats bobbing toward an imaginary finish line. Arthur watches from the house or from the edge of the beach wearing the peaked cap he’d taken from the front room that very first day. A first day which turned into a first week and is readily approaching a first month.

Eames makes fruit smoothies, and kachumbari, and mushroom stew. A neighbour boy called Okeyo from a house down the road wanders over a few times a week to help in the roof garden and then to play igo with Eames on the stone patio. That first Tuesday, Eames is distracted by Arthur wandering toward the shoreline after a long nap on a beach towel. 

‘Do you swim?’ He says abruptly to Okeyo and he wonders how he’d gone so long not knowing when Okeyo had been coming down the road many many months by then.

‘No.’ He says glancing at Eames with wide brown eyes. ‘But I can float.’

Eames smiles and strips away his shirt. ‘I’ll show you.’ 

Okeyo does the same and by the time they reach the shore Arthur is paddling out lazily on his back. ‘Tell me you beat him, Okeyo.’ He says kicking water in Eames’ direction.

Okeyo laughs and eventually, he stops where his chin just barely touches the water. Eames looks at him. ‘You know a plane’s propellers?’ He says and Okeyo looks thoughtful.

‘Propellers.’ He repeats, very clearly not knowing and Eames purses his lips.

Arthur watches in amusement as Eames fails to retrieve the word in Swahili and resigns himself to miming the movement of a propeller with his hands. ‘You move your feet like that to keep you afloat.’ 

Arthur looks at Okeyo. ‘You can’t swim?’

And Okeyo shakes his head. ‘But I can float.’

Arthur paddles toward them to take Okeyo under his arms. Then, Okeyo was small enough that Arthur could pull him through the water so easily it felt like breathing, like nothing. He shows him to hold his breath underwater, then to doggy paddle, then to breaststroke. On many other days, he shows him to front crawl, then to backstroke and butterfly until his form is better than Eames’ will ever be.

On Fridays, a group of all sorts come round to play cards in the main room. Arthur mostly opts out in favour of reading the terrible romance novels he found spilling out of a box in Eames’ bedroom closet. But from the patio, he can still hear the commotion, a room filled with bellowing voices and plenty of liquor. Eames’ bellowing voice, always much clearer to Arthur, protesting in Swahili and complaining indignantly in English. When the night comes to a close and the last voice fades into the distance Arthur anticipates Eames crowding him on the daybed smelling of cohibas and red wine.

‘Don’t mind me.’ He mumbles pressing his face into Arthur’s neck and Arthur does try but he rarely ever manages to finish the page he’s on before Eames grows impatient and pulls impetuously at the drawstring on his swimsuit. And Arthur goes easily against him, Eames’ pinky ring cool against the back of his neck and his stubble scouring along his cheek leaving angry blooms of skin in his wake. 

That last Friday, Eames doesn’t say a thing when he huddles into Arthur’s side. ‘Tired?’ Arthur says when he comes undisturbed to the end of his page and eventually Eames pulls away to look at him. 

‘Too much wine maybe.’ He responds cheekily before laying his cheek flush against Arthur’s bare shoulder. ‘You should be asleep. We’ve got to be up early.’

Arthur strokes his thumb along the back of Eames’ neck. ‘It’s fine.’

They do go to the bedroom eventually, very slowly and when they stumble into the sheets together Arthur can’t help thinking it’s all a very elaborate facade, the story they have spun the past month. The two of them like something out of the unbearably cliched novels he’d been reading, in paradise eating fruit salad and frolicking along the shore. The waves crashing and their hearts beating as a constant backdrop. 

It was so convincing that he almost believes it when Eames kisses him like this is their house on the sea. But Arthur is just fine with playing the part so he lets Eames kiss him into the mattress until he’s flushed up to his ears and he feels like maybe he could float away like an ember from a flame. He reaches around Eames' head to deepen the kiss but he’s quick to pull away. ‘You could stay.’ Eames says as if they’ve been having a discussion this whole time already.

Arthur’s heart bumps irregularly in his chest and he stares blankly at him. 

‘Or not.’ He appends with a small shrug that Arthur thinks is meant to be perceived as aloof.

‘Mm.’ Arthur hums and he thinks it’s almost embarrassing how much he wants to hear him say it again because somehow he knows when Eames says: _you could stay_ he also means _I want you to, please_ , but it’s just the two of them here in the dark and he’s desperate. ‘I can’t bail on Dom again-’

Eames rolls his eyes and Arthur rolls into his side with a smile. 

‘-but you know I can come back, right?-’ He mumbles into Eames’ shoulder.’- _if you want._ ’


End file.
